


Burn Me Twice

by Theboys



Series: Guilty [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Bottom Jared, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Jared Padalecki, Hurt Jensen Ackles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Top Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burn me once, shame on you, burn me twice, shame on both of us, because we let it happen.<br/>Jensen and Jared are both guilty. The only question that remains is whether or not they're willing to do anything about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn Me Twice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [69JustPeachy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/69JustPeachy/gifts).



> For the lovely 69JustPeachy.  
> Hope this is even close to what you wanted, and if not, I'll just try again until I get it right!

Jensen Ackles has never been impulsive a day in his life.

 

He planned his future as an optometrist when he was seven years old, and Christian Kane threw a dodgeball so hard at his face that he couldn’t see for seventeen seconds (he counted).

He and Kane later beat one another to a bloody pulp in the boys bathroom, in order to establish dominance, but that was neither here nor there.

No, the point of the matter is, that when Jensen Ackles decides on something, he goes through all of the appropriate channels to procure it.

And he always succeeds.

There was no reason he could plausibly think of, for how he ended up in the situation he’s currently in. He’s filled with a cold sort of rage, but thrumming, just under the skin, as he watches Jared’s lean body curve against his headboard (their headboard, goddamnit, Jare), as he arches up, pulling his long, slender legs to his chest.

His partner is punching little whines out of the back of his throat, and he can see the punishing rhythm that the man is setting up, hands digging into Jared’s sweat slick waist.

“Fuck, Mish, right there--fucking don’t stop--don’t you dare fucking stop--”

Jensen leans forward unobtrusively, so he can see through the crack in the door better.

Misha Collins, his _boyfriend’s_ boss, from the bar Jared’s currently moonlighting at.

Watches Jared wail as he comes, perfect, slightly curved dick fluttering within Misha’s grip.

Misha pulls out and finishes on Jared’s chest, reaching down to smear the cum into Jared’s skin with exposed fingertips.

He groans. “Fuck, Jared, baby, we’ve got to stop doing this. Want to take you home with me.”

Jared looks fucked out against his pillow, long hair clinging damply to his cheeks, eyes sparking with mischievousness.

Same look he wore when he was begging Jensen to fuck him at one of his optometry conferences in San Antonio.

Jensen’s heard enough.

He pushes his way through the doorway, years of brushing shoulders with wealthier men than he have lent him an ease, if not naturally acquired, that he’s become accustomed to.

Misha scrambles off of Jared and lands in a heap beside the four-poster bed.

Jared squeaks,

and honestly, it’s ridiculous for such an oversized man to make any noise of the sort,

and kind of whispers Jensen’s name in a strangled sort of manner. Jensen levels his gaze on Misha, who he’s begrudgingly giving credit for having dragged on his slacks in such a short amount of time.

Raises a brow caustically. “Don’t let me stop you, Mish, wouldn’t want to miss you running from the room with your tail between your legs.”

The man’s thin mouth twitches, and he pushes the shock of dark hair away that has fallen into his face.

Pulls his t-shirt over his head as he strides out, attritional glance at Jared as he egresses.

Jared’s respiring heavily, peach-colored covers somehow tugged all the way up to his neck when Jensen was otherwise occupied.

“Why?”

Jensen didn’t mean to ask this question, wanted to play this a different way.

Jensen shakes his head. “Don’t answer that.” Jerks his head in the direction of the open doorway, face reflective. “Think you’ll get free drinks for life, now?”

Jared’s face twists and he sits up in the bed, sheets falling away to expose his trim waist, and Jensen is momentarily distracted by how much he loves to run his tongue across that expanse.

“That, that right there, Jensen, is why.”

Jared’s fox-tilted eyes are glossy, and his voice has an undercurrent of trembling running through it.

He stands up, happy trail glistening with cum (not his, not his) and drags a pair of sweatpants on over his flagging erection.

“I’ll be gone in an hour.”

-

Jared’s fucking young, alright?

He’s 24 years young and he grew up in freaking Texas.

He grew up a Catholic in Texas.

His mama didn’t let him sit with his (admittedly, female, and subsequently, uninteresting) female dates without a chaperone.

And they were in the living room!

You can’t blame Jared for wanting a little excitement in his life, after a childhood like that.

He’s stretched out on Misha’s couch right now, pen stuck in between his teeth as he idly wanders through the wanted ads.

He’s such a responsible person. He’s got bills, and one job won’t cut it, now that he’s broken up with Jen.

Jen.

The name squeezes at Jared’s chest and he shakes it away, eyes watering against his will. Jensen’s so fucking smart. He’s got those black rimmed reading glasses he’s supposed to wear, but never does.

Pretty, bottle green eyes framed by a smattering of freckles that he just loathes.

Feigns irritation when Jared insists on hovering over him to count each one stranded on his face.

Jared suffers a second of extreme panic. He only got to seventy-two! He never even checked behind Jensen’s ears!

Misha stumbles into the kitchen, pants unbuckled at the waist, body a long sinuous curve as he cocks his hips against the counter. Hisses as he cradles his over-hot coffee in his hand.

“You gotten the rest of your things from Jensen’s, baby?”

Jared looks up, humming in acknowledgement. “Didn’t have much. It’s all in my car, I’m too lazy to bring it inside.”

Misha chuckles in his corner, spine cracking as he bends down to put on his dress shoes. “I’m gonna swing by Enclave, there’s a broken water pipe I want to be sure they have fixed before tonight.”

He leans over Jared and presses coffee-warmed lips against his forehead. “See you tonight when you come in, Jay.”

Jared hums noncommittally as Misha strides out. Jared knows he’s being difficult. Ungrateful, even. Knows Misha cares more than he does.

Didn’t even mean for he and Misha to start, honestly.

Jared had been at a rave (sue him, there weren’t exactly a plethora of those in Texas), and would you know it, Misha had been there, long hard body covered in fluorescent paint, lithe little twink pressed in between his legs.

Mish had seen Jared and winked, and later Jared saw him again, and they proceeded to bounce back shots like water. Jared’s a lightweight, he attributes this to not having had the opportunities to drink during high school, like good, honest American teenagers.

That doesn’t quite explain how he ends up on his knees on the floor of a questionable, at best, bathroom--where the bass is still pumping and he can hear the drop as if he’s got headphones on--groaning around Misha’s erect cock and lapping up his cum like icing.

Let Misha come on his face, painting his lashes until they were weighed down and clumpy, shot in his pants like he was fourteen.

Came home that same morning at two am, (and he’s proud because he’s usually slinking in at four am, stinking of beer and tequila, trying to sit on Jensen’s sleep-flaccid dick) and curled around Jensen’s toasty body, passing out from sheer alcohol intake.

Jensen’s nose wrinkled in disdain when he awoke the next morning--good to see all’s right in the world, Jared had thought wearily.

It became a habit, after that. Quick fucks in the alley behind Enclave, suspicious restrooms, and one memorable time, in the corner of the dancefloor at the club across the street. Jared shivers at the memory of standing in front of Misha’s body, body slightly hunched to take Misha’s girth, struggling to keep his keens from disrupting the atmosphere.

Jensen never even suspected. Jensen never even cared, Jared doesn’t think. Too busy off at all his conventions--that he takes Jared to sparingly, he might add.

Leaves Optometric Retina Society newsletters scattered across the condo--who does that, who reads that kind of stuff, even casually?

Stuffing Jared into tux after tux to parade him around his high-society leeches like a wind-up monkey.

Jared huffs and relaxes back into the couch. It’s easier to accept when he recalls that Jensen never really loved him. Only condoned his presence.

Jared clamps down on his lip. Doesn’t explain why he’s still head over heels for the man, then.

-

Jensen met Jared at his favorite coffee shop.

His first memory, and he recalls this fondly, is of the giant man tripping over his shoelaces behind the counter, and momentarily disappearing from view as he tumbled to the ground.

Jensen hadn’t laughed that hard since his friend Jeff had prescribed a teenage girl hard contact lenses, and she’d thought she’d popped her eyeball out when the lens made an distinct thump when she removed it and it dropped into the sink.

Tall and adorable popped back up then, face colored in distress.

“What--what did you want Sir?”

Jared--his nametag read--was the most blundering thing, all limbs and height at the youthful age, 22, Jensen would find out later.

“Americano. And your number, please. You can write it on the cup, if you don’t have any paper.”

Jared had turned scarlet, stuttering that he’d be right back with his order, sir--and that honorific caused Jensen’s dick to assertively try to fling itself out of his slacks-- and pushed Jensen’s coffee towards him without looking.

Jensen had maintained his impassive gaze as he tipped his head in Jared’s direction when he left.

Immediately searched the cup for digits, and was agreeably pleased to find them, tiny and neat, on the bottom of the cup, his name written beside them in miniscule letters.

He was alarmed with how much he wanted this boy, all smooth skin and innocent youth. Plaintive mewls and untouched skin.

Jensen sighs as he reflexively dilates an acne ridden teenage girl’s eyes, gesturing for her to rest her chin on the phoropter.

Jared’s so damn vital, so damn lively, and all he wants to do is rage, twist that young body and grind on dancefloors, wear liquor on his face like a mask, bend over for Jensen on any surface. Comes home late and disheveled, and Jensen is two parts annoyed and fearful--what’s Jared doing out so late without him?

But now he knows.

He’s no saint, either, he recognizes, remembering all the clandestine meetings he’s had with his intern, Brock, and that’s a sinful boy if he’s ever met one.

****  


Meant to drag Jensen straight into the grave, followed briskly by Hell, with his wickedly limber body and pale hair, hands bone white as he pleads with Jensen to fuck him

_Want your goddamn dick in me, daddy_

Jensen’s shudders involuntarily. Boy’s got a filthy mouth, that’s undisputed, and Jensen takes him in the utility closet at work, thinks forlornly that he can fuck him in his bed, now.

Not his fault if he only sees hazel when he looks at Brock’s slack mouth, anyway.

-

Jared believes in karma.

He just thought karma had a gestational period, at least.

Fuck someone over, wait six months before karma is delivered in full. Thank you for playing.

This theory is disproven, however, as he watches Jensen pound his interns body into pieces over their--his--leather couch, boy crying in big, wet sobs.

_"Do it like last time--fuck, Jen--daddy--”_

Jared realizes karma is double-edged, because this boy sounds familiar--acquainted with Jensen’s dick, his fucking style.

Jared must make a small sound, because Jensen whirls around, eyes connecting with Jared’s wild ones.

Keeps one palm settled over the back of Brock’s downy hair, other one locked onto his struggling hips.

“Jare--” he breathes, voice raspy.

Jared stumbles backwards and runs out the way he came.

-

Jensen thinks there is a God, and he clearly wants Jensen to suffer, because there’s no other explanation why his co-workers chose to gather at Enclave for drinks tonight.

He’s doing his level-best to ignore Jared’s trim body in all black, serving patrons with a dimpled smile over at the bar.

He’s managed to see Jared fucking everywhere for the last few weeks, starting with running into him and Chad, which wouldn’t be so bad if Kane didn’t have such an unexplainable attraction to the little shit.

So Jensen sees him all the time, makes small talk with him over coffee as Kane does everything short of whipping out his dick and physically laying it on the table for Chad to consider.

Jensen looks at those dimples every day, the smiles that aren’t directed at him--anymore, the lingering looks he sends Misha.

The way he gestures wildly with his hands when he’s excited about something, making everything in his path a hazard.

Jensen **wants.**

But, shit, he thought work would be a reprieve from that.

Slinks up to the bar, watching the long column of Jared’s throat as he laughs at something his co-worker said, and for a few seconds, his engaging gaze lingers on Jensen.

How could Jensen have missed that level of intensity? How could he have ever thought he would be okay with anything less?

“Something you want, Jensen?”

And his voice is that low-level of hurt, _I saw you cheating with your intern and you wouldn’t have told me about it,_ that Jensen wants to erase.

“You.”

he mutters quietly, uncertain if Jared heard. If he even wants him to hear.

Jared’s face contorts, and he rests his palms against the polished wood of the bar in front of him.

“Jensen--you don’t love me. I’m not like you--you hang out with people so far above my pay grade, I can’t even see that high.”

Jensen’s head jerks up and he recoils.

Jared continues, melancholy.

“I want you, God knows I do, but I’m not good enough for you.” He levels his gaze at Jensen. “I’m never gonna be what you want.”

He makes like he’s going to leave, go into the back and fucking leave Jensen hanging, and Jensen’s had just about all he can take of Jared exiting.

He lunges forward and grabs Jared by the scruff of his neck, dragging him down for a kiss.

“I’m a goddamned idiot,” he murmurs against Jared’s spit-slick lips.

“Jare, if you’ll have me, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you how much you mean to me.”

Jared’s eyes are limpid, and his arms are tangled around Jensen’s neck. He eyes his them like they’re foreigners. Doesn’t know how they got there.

“I’m scared, Jense, I’m fucking young, man, I wanna live a little and you want to drag me to _dinner parties,_ ” he vibrates as if he said the word guillotine, instead.

Jensen is frantic. Jared sounds like he might refuse--

“Baby, I can’t take no for an answer, please say you’ll fucking let me try.”

Jared vaults over top of the bar, graceless and unsteady as usual, and Jensen lets out a watery laugh because he’s missed that lack of coordination so damn much.

Jared smiles, lasciviously.

“Want to make it up to me?”

And Jensen, for the life of him, can’t understand why he was ever so uptight, when he’s balls deep in Jared’s ass, bending his body double over the toilet, swiveling his hips in small circles, Jared keening.

**  
** He can be a little more adventurous, he thinks.


End file.
